Where devils rest their heads
by Ringwil
Summary: Kumo nin succeeded in kidnapping Hinata Hyuga, and brought her back to their village, to be trained and studied in the camp of the Institute of Research. Once she takes to the battlefield, however, her aptitude in combat does not go unnoticed by certain powerful parties, and it becomes harder and harder to know whom to be loyal to, as the lines between good and bad begin to blur.
1. Chapter 1

**Where devils rest their heads**

Shinobi from Kumogakure snatched Hinata Hyuga from her bed, and succeeded in bringing her back to their village. Hinata grows up in the camp of the Institute of Research, where her worth is determined by her Byakugan and her ability to kill. But her aptitude in combat does not go unnoticed by certain powerful parties, and when Hinata is thrust onto the battlefield, it becomes harder and harder to know whom to be loyal to, as the lines between good and bad begin to blur.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 _What is your name, girl ?_

Soft hands, a hum, moonlight pooling through the cracks in the curtain, a murky sheen

 _this is your home now, Hinata_

please, take me back, a voice like a bell, a phantom touch – daddy ?

 _your loyalty will be to Kumo_

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Etsuki-sensei smiled kindly at her. A sunbeam had edged up her face, made every spot vivid and precise. It rolled over the patches of acne on her chin, stark red against the ashen paleness of her cheeks, over the birthmark above her eye, which circled towards her temple.

"It's going to be alright." Her eyes were brown, wide and open – willing, waiting. Her hair tangled around her face, short and cropped until her shoulders, lips chapped to the point they bled.

Hinata didn't know whether she was talking to her, or the Skin Division girl on the other stool, whose hands spasmed in her lap, shorts hoisted up by a safety pin. Her eyelashes, aflame in the sunlight, were soggy from crying.

"It's not going to hurt," Etsuki said. She leaned forward to lay a hand on the Skin Division's girl's leg. Her nails were jagged, bitten to the quick. Spots of red nailpolish littered the edges.

Hinata flickered her gaze to her own hands, resting on her knees. She remembered the last time she wore nailpolish; Masuyo applied it, after she scooted over towards Hinata's bench, during a history lesson. "You have pretty hands," she said, breath hot and breezing against Hinata's neck. "You've got to put them to work."

"You're going to be just fine," Etsuki-sensei said. A glossy pucker of scar tissue peeked around her wrist, and shimmered in the light of the sunset.

Hinata wondered if Etsuki had been part of a Division too. If she had walked the same corridors in the dry heat of Kumogakure's summers, dust caressing her cheeks and penetrating into every fold of the stiff uniform. If she had slept inside the same wooden barracks, wiry lightning splitting the sky outside, and had been sent to the same labs for regular check-ups, skin ecplising the smell of chlorine.

She wanted to see intentions behind Etsuki's kindness. Believe they were more than thoughtless impulses. Motions generated from experience, rather than pity.

The board above the metal door flickered red. _133_ , it said. The Skin Division shuddered, and sagged, the desire to flee blatant on her face. Her long-fingered palms cupped each kneecap, squeezing tightly.

Hinata slid off the stool and walked over to the door. She could feel the eyes of the other girl upon her, so she flicked her gaze back, but the girl was already averting her eyes, putting her chin against her chest and flaying the split ends of her hair with her fingers.

Etsuki-sensei put a hand on Hinata's shoulder, and squeezed lightly. "This might be the last time for you," she said. Hinata wondered how the older girl saw her; the dangle of her pin against her chest, the sleepy crease around her eyes.

"Go," Etsuki whispered, her mouth revealing a coral row of teeth. "Make me proud."

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Hinata had been here every month, since the day she arrived at the Institute of Research.

Muramoto Shido worked quietly, filling up the syrings with gloved hands, eyes focused behind his thick-rimmed glasses. In the times she'd been here, he had never said a word to her, moved with the same methodical movements, an almost bored expression seeping onto his face.

His hair was a buzz cut, his eyes a flimsy grey. His gaze was flat, impartial to what he was doing, what was happening. Every so often, his gaze would flick to her face, and lock eyes with her, and then a light would return to his irises, as if he finally took residence in the world again. When he looked away, it was over.

Hinata wondered if this was the Skin Division girl's first time. She had looked about eleven, knees bruised and scabbing over, short murky green hair knotting around her ears. A round face, never lost its baby chub, and sprinkled with freckles.

The first time Hinata had her check-up, the urine had trickled down her leg to leave an anklet of pee. Muramoto had not cared; he strapped her up on the chair, had trailed the slice on her lips with a plastic-clad finger, with apathy curled around every limb. There was no private meaning for those actions, no concern under the gentle padding of a disinfected tissue.

Muramoto moved towards her, and stuck the needle in her arm. Hinata scrunched her eyes together against the sting. Muramoto took it out in one fluent movement, and turned away. Looked down at the clipboard by the chair.

"Activate your Byakugan," he said. It was the first time he had spoken to her, and the sound of his voice was loud and throaty.

Hinata let the chakra flow.

It was a peculiar sensation; the chakra flooded the coils by her eyes, a soft pleasant tingle. The world blazed alive around her. She could see the swirling of Muramoto's charka in his coils, a network of wires unfolding itself. And further away, through the wall, the Skin Division girl, and Etsuki biting down on a nail, and then the camp bustling about, their chakra whirling in their coils like stars in an orbit, and further -

"Do you see the watchtowers?" Muramoto said. The urgency in his voice startled her. He clamped her wrist in his palm, and Hinata's eyes widened, as she tried to focus on his eyes, framed by wrinkles, instead of the intricate coils that lay behind them. "You go beyond those. This is your last day. Be free."

"I will, sir," Hinata said quickly, bowing her head with a polite smile. Her heart was fluttering like a hummingbird against her neck. "I promise."

"Good," Muramoto said, with a resolute nod. His eyes were lidded and flat again. He released her arm, and undid the straps with harsh, quick movements. The leather scraped against her skin.

"Get out."

Hinata jumped off the chair, and fled the room. She walked as fast as she could, without running, a buzzing at her spine that was almost unmanagable. Etsuki gave her a winning smile, the skin around her eyes crinkling.

The Skin Division girl began to sob.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

The oldest were men and women grown. The Division pins gleamed in the shallow morning sunlight. Hinata's hand crept up her chest and grasped at her own pin, a simple hexagon, as blue as the sky on a warm winter day. The kanji for Doujutsu was engraved deep into the metal.

She trailed a finger along the edges, over the worn scratches that the pin had attained, the slightest dents. She wondered if this was a time she was going to remember four, five, six years from now.

Hinata fished a few strands from her neck. The sky was overcast above her head, and bled white above the peaks of the mountains, but the air tasted sweet and warm. She rolled the stiff fabric of her uniform between her fingers, trailed cotton rings along her shirt.

"You look nervous."

The words rolled over her shoulder. Keiko stepped up beside her, a few wiry strands tossed into her eyes. Her sleeves were rolled up, and rested in the crooks of her elbows. Everything about her radiated indifference. Hinata tried her best not to think about her own clammy palms.

"O-only a bit," she said. Then swallowed, and thought about her speech lessons. About Haruhi-sensei, with bracelets of scratches, and one blind eye. "A big day, after all."

She snuck a glance at the rows of straightened bodies around her, and the silken pennants above the raised platform, chiseled out of the mountain the camp's terrain circled around. The pennants fluttered in the light breeze, the fabric softly folding.

Keiko leaned towards her. Her breath was hot and breezing against her neck. "Let's hope we get placed on the same team. Would be neat."

"Don't think so," Hinata said, while she watched how Keiko lifted a long-fingered hand, and tugged on the friendship bracelet on Hinata's wrist. A string of painted pebbles, yellow and faded, and coated with a layer of fine dust. "They w-wouldn't put two of the same Division on the same team."

Keiko shrugged. "I think we're great together."

Hinata could feel the blood rising towards her cheeks. She lifted her head and glanced at the throngs of bodies that had accumulated on the roofs of the barracks to watch the ceremony. A few Chakra Division boys with stringly lemon hair and crooked noses waved at the crowd from the nearest barrack.

"You're quite fearless, Hinata-chan," Keiko said, after a long moment of silence. She lifted her head towards the sky, and her eyes flicked in her eyesockets. Hinata clenched her hands at that, nails digging into her palms.

She was saved from replying, as the ceremony gong went off. All the voices stuttered to a sudden halt, and ebbed away, as the sound carried over the assembly.

Three jounin stepped onto the platform. Hinata recognized the headmedic Aoyama. He had come in during one of the taijutsu lessons once, and she knew his dark eyes to be cold and unfeeling. He carried a cane at his side, the top coated in metal and molded into the shape of a hawk.

The other jounin were just as easily recognizable. Mabui, the white-haired assistent of the Raikage - "The White Ghost," Keiko whispered into her ear, hand clutching Hinata's wrist and squeezing until the sting radiated through her entire arm – and the Jounin Commander, whose face was set in a perpetually displeased expression.

A trickle in her thumb. Her heart beating against her ribcage, as if it wanted to create bruises on her chest. The Raikage stepped up behind him. He had not donned his hat, but carried it in front of his stomach, as if it was something sacred.

"The future of this village," the Raikage said. His voice was deep and cultured, and it carried far. "Today is very special. Today is the day that yet another group of patients of Kumogakure's Institute of Research become our ninja. Protectors for everything Kumogakure stands for; our overwhelming strength and courage. Guardians of our secrets and actions. _Shinobi_."

He looked over the crowd, and for a moment, Hinata thought he looked straight at her. "When I call your number, you will receive your headband, and become an official member of our Shinobi forces. Do not disappoint us. This is a privilege. For Kumo you will fight."

A whisper in her ear – _your loyalty will be to Kumo._ The crowd began to chant; it started as a mere whisper in the back row, but it grew louder as it spread over the barracks, and the throngs of bodies. Keiko looked at her, eyes shadowed by her brown eyelashes, barely blinking. Her lips curved into a grin wide enough to hurt.

"For Kumo," Hinata said, and smiled back.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Hinata felt oddly naked, as she navigated through the throngs of bodies, and the icy gazes of the guards, who stood by the doors, white-knuckled grips on their chokutos, flicked over her. The beam of the watchtowers rolled over the crowd.

Keiko squeezed her palm, and shot her a smile full of teeth. She tugged at the headband, a nail digging into her temple. "All girls," she said, and dampened her lips. "My sensei is said to be a tracking specialist."

"Combat, I t-think. Maybe sabotage." She didn't know for sure. She wished she had asked Etsuki-sensei, when she had come to visit their barrack. Keiko squeezed her hand, eyes dark with concern. Hinata sent her a weak smile, but Keiko's brows only furrowed together, so she suspected it came out more as a grimace.

Her team was waiting by the Main Gate. Two boys, both tall and broad, were holding up a sign with the number 133 on it. Their teacher, whose sharp-eyed, tilted face reminded Hinata of a hawk, was leaning against the wall behind them.

"Hey newbie! My name's Rin, and you're gonna remember it," the shortest boy barked at her. His orange, wiry hair stuck up like a crest at the back of his head, and the skin around his left eye was knotted together in large chunks of white scar tissue. The scars twisted and stretched, as his face relaxed into a parody of a smile.

He lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the blazing sun. "So you're the Konoha rat, eh?"

"My name is Hinata, patient number 133, Doujutsu Division." The words came out in a rush. She could feel her knees clank together, and had to dig her heels into the ground to keep herself standing. "Please, take care of me!"

She felt a rush of fear as she bowed, almost tripping over herself. Her hair tumbled like a waterfall over her face. The peal of laughter that followed, made her twitch.

When she straightened up again, the other boy was towering over her.

"Daisuke is the name," he said slowly. His voice was a low rumble, muffled by the thick fabric of his scarf. He ran a hand through his hair, fingers snagging on a loose knot. His eyes were a flimsy grey, and his gaze made her skin prickle. Hinata could feel the fear loosening its grip.

He tilted his head, lips curved into a lazy smile. "If we get demoted to D-ranks because of you, I'll make your life a living hell."

Hinata swallowed against the curl of saliva in her throat, and stole a look at her new teacher's face. He was watching their interaction very closely, as if he was contemplating what category to put her in. Whether she abided to the same rule as his other students, to see if she was something alien – something novel.

He met her gaze; his eyes were an indescernible color, stuck somewhere between green and hazel, and when the light hit them, they glittered up like a sunset.

Hinata clenched her hands. He seemed the type to sense and despise weakness, so she pushed her shoulders back and lifted her head, even though the shaking of her hands grew more prominent.

"I-I'll take care to avoid that then," she said, keeping her gaze on her new Sensei. She thought she saw his lips twitch.

He pushed himself off the wall, and leaned forward to place a hand on her shoulder. "Now that we're busy with introductions," he said slowly, skin around his eyes crinkling, "I'm Tsuyoi Tanaka, but you'll only refer to me as 'Sensei', if you want to live long enough to rise in rank."

He released her, and stepped back, elbowing the boys in their sides. Rin's face scrunched up, and she saw his fingers clench around his weapon pouch. Sensei's eyes glittered.

"Welcome to our team, Hinata."


	2. Chapter 2

Where devils rest their heads

\- chapter two -

Shinobi from Kumogakure snatched Hinata Hyuga from her bed, and succeeded in bringing her back to their village. Hinata grows up in the camp of the Institute of Research, where her worth is determined by her Byakugan and her ability to kill. But her aptitude in combat does not go unnoticed by certain powerful parties, and when Hinata is thrust onto the battlefield, it becomes harder and harder to know whom to be loyal to, as the lines between good and bad begin to blur.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Hinata willed her skin not to crawl as she stared out of the village. Her feet dangled off the trunk she was sitting on, kicked the heels against the wood. Strips of bark floated to the ground – a few leaves held on by a silvery spider thread.

"If you're just going to let us work, you better go," Daisuke said. He rubbed a big hand over his face. He twisted his features, as if the silence was physically painful. "Hell-o? What are you even staring at?"

Hinata wondered if they shared the same view, and tried to see what it must have looked to him. The houses, crudely chiseled out of the rocks, circling around the mountains, and the red metal bridges that ran from peak to peak. She felt miniature and tiny next to those structures of dirt and steel. Perception was a funny thing.

"This is my first time." She let her head fall back and looked at the sky. No birds or clouds. The wind whipped loose strands around her face, into her mouth.

"First time? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Seeing the village."

"Don't they let you out?" Daisuke's brows were creased. He laid a hand on his bicep and softly kneaded there, rolling the dark skin between his fingers. There were wounds on his hands, only just scabbing over.

"N-No." She didn't want to talk about the camp. Daisuke's face, slack in its confusion, and with his greasy, black hair blown back against his scalp made her wonder what she looked like to him; still wearing her IOC uniform, a gleaming Division pin on her breastpocket. Skin unmarred, hair well-kept. A child playing dress up.

Daisuke opened his mouth, but Hinata was quicker. "Let's get back to work," she said, and swallowed her stutter.

She walked past him, a tremble in her fingertips, and picked up the log. She dug her fingers deep into the bark; the wood pulverized under her nails. The air smelled of wildness, a certain savagery.

"Yeah," Daisuke said. Then a pause, and a rattle in his chest. "Yeah."

He grabbed the other end of the log, and together they went up the steep stairs.

After three D-ranks, Hinata ached all over, and was ready to beg for a real mission. They had cut wood for an old lady at the base of one of the mountains, had watched three children for a young couple, and had shoveled and weeded a grand garden for an elderly man with a perpetually disinterested expression on his face.

Sensei's glittering eyes, and the twitching smile playing around his mouth, kept her from making her displeasure known. She didn't want to seem ungrateful, after all. But Rin had no such inclinations.

"Listen," he started, "I get that we have to train our new Konoha rat, but we managed B-ranks, so what do you say, Sensei?"

Hinata sniffed the air. It smelled of dust and pine needles, the cold sharp and familiar. Sensei led their group out of the mission office, unto the street. She wanted to close her eyes and let herself be warmed by the pleasant afternoon sun. It blazed down on her scalp, and her skin burned in places that her hair didn't cover.

She was too wildly excited to be in the Village. Her hands kept spasming at her sides, restless for movement, and her Byakugan kept flaring up, to take it all in; the houses that were chiseled out of the mountains, the villagers that scurried like ants over the red-painted bridges.

"You don't work flawlessly together," Sensei said. The stores they passed were opened, lights dim behind the glass. A few store owners nodded respectfully at their group. "While your taijutsu and Daisuke's kenjutsu is more than chunin-worthy, Hinata here has not yet gotten used to your movements."

"I-It will only be a while," Hinata offered, and then flinched, as Rin's aggressive gaze came to rest on her. "Hopefully."

"It better be," Daisuke grumbled in reply, and unsheathed his knife. The curved blade gleamed silver as it reflected the sunlight, and Hinata came to a sudden halt at the sight. Her own hands fumbled for a kunai, but the pouch wouldn't budge under her fingers.

"Calm down, rat," Rin said and laughed in her face. "Geez, are all newbies like this?"

Daisuke ran a finger over the blade, and drew some blood, but didn't reply.

"We're going to try to get you adjusted to your teammates' styles, Hinata," Sensei's low voice said. Something about the gleam in his irises made her hatches rise. "And we're going to figure out exactly what style you prefer."

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Daisuke crouched low in front of her, and spun his dagger between his fingers. Hinata watched how his chest rose with every breath, completely at ease. His scarf was wrapped tightly around the lower half of his face, and slung back over his shoulders.

In the distance, metal clattered. Hinata could just make out two blurry figures racing at each other, through the tangle of trunks around them. Rin's feral cry echoed over the training field.

"Ready?" Daisuke's voice was low enough to be almost intelligible. His grip around his dagger was white-knuckled; the powerful tendons in his forearms twitched.

"A-Always."

Hinata pushed herself off the ground and extended her leg in a kick at Daisuke's head. A hand snaked around her ankle, and the world blurred as she was pulled towards the ground. Hinata brought her hands up, pressed them against his chest. A blast of chakra, and Daisuke was thrown off her and smacked against the ground.

Breathing heavily, they regarded each other in silence. Daisuke leapt up, body arched with tension, and his dagger slashed through the air. She whipped her head back, felt her neck muscles strain, and brought her knee up.

It smacked into his stomach, but that didn't seem to phase him. The dagger came again, quicker this time. It slashed her shoulder. It was only the adrenaline that thrummed through her veins that kept her silent, though she could feel her muscles contract. Hinata brought her senbon and kunai up at the glitter of silver in the sunlight, and parried Daisuke's next slash.

A hand came around the weapons, grabbed her wrist, and pulled. A kick to her side made her gasp in pain, a strangled cry rolling over her tongue.

"That's enough for today, I think," Daisuke said. He sounded breathless.

"You're quick," Daisuke heaved, after they collapsed together in a rocky alcove. Sweat glistened on his forehead. "Your taijutsu is pretty standard, but it's decent. I didn't know they trained you that well at the IOC."

"You graduate when you're ready," Hinata offered quietly. She was gasping for air, and for once the blazing sun was less than pleasant. The rays edged up her chest, and her sunburned shoulders jerked under the warmth.

"The file said that your chakra control was above average as well."

Sensei stepped up, followed by Rin, whose clothes were cut up in various place. His hips were stained with green, blades of grass plastered to the fabric of his trousers, and blood had trailed a lazy line over his cheek.

His green eyes zeroed in on them. They flicked over Daisuke, who lifted a hand in a greeting, a smile tugged in his cheek, and then focused on Hinata's shoulder, where her gash was sluggishly oozing blood in small rivulets.

"Tch. When you're injured, you come to me, fool," Rin grumbled, and crouched beside her. His hands glowed green, and he pressed them against her skin. The chakra came in as a cold blast. A pressure against her skin, as if she was being submerged in water. She could feel it far beneath her skin.

Hinata's Byakugan flared to life, before she could actively stop it, and she watched as Rin's chakra circled and accumulated around his hands. It rolled through his coils with a force and a quickness that she had never seen before.

The concentrated chakra was almost to bright to look at, but she forced herself to watch as her gash slowly knitted together. Newly, unmarred skin – as if there had never been a wound.

"Daisuke is our close-combat specialist," Sensei said, eyes glittering. "Rin takes to long distance, as his status as medic must not be compromised. But his aim is excellent."

Hinata's hand crept up to her chest and squeezed her Division pin.

"Your eyes are good for tracking," he continued, "but I was thinking you could be a real surprise. All-seeing eyes, lithe and nimble statue, and decent chakra control." Sensei tilted his head, and though she felt both her teammates' eyes on her, feral green and glowing brown, she couldn't look away from her teacher's chiseled face.

"How would you like to be an assassin, Hinata?"

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Keiko knocked on her door.

"I got a letter from my mother," she said, as she pushed past Hinata, and proceeded into the apartment. Now that they were Genin, they occupied the homes within an apartment complex on one of the other peaks.

Hinata's two-chamber apartment grew dark in the early afternoon, and the shadows slithered over a sunken couch, and a wooden flooring that squeaked under the slightest weight. But it was _hers_ , in a way that the barrack at the camp had never been. Here she was Hinata, and not _patient number 133,_ _report to Lab 5c_.

They slouched onto her bed, and ignored the aggravatingly loud protests of the bed springs. Hinata waited quietly, the silence an invitation. Keiko remained silent and propped herself up on her elbows, her gaze on the ceiling.

"Kaa-san sent me a present," she spoke up. One of her hands was curled around the waistband of her trousers, while the other pinched the fabric of her flak jacket. "It's one of the first in years."

She lifted a hand and dropped a tiny doll in Hinata's lap. It was made of straw, with a pink dress, with a flowery pattern. Two buttons, one big, one small, served as eyes. Hinata trailed them with a finger.

"P-pretty," Hinata said carefully, while she kept her gaze on her friend's face. Family had always been in difficult topic in the camp, and was only seldomly talked about; mostly in fights, meant to hurt. She knew Keiko's mother still had a special place in her friend's heart.

"It is, isn't it? She sad she made one for my litle brother too. I think she's forgetting that I'm almost thirteen."

"How is she doing?"

"The same as always. At least, I think she is. Her letters have always been vague."

"And your brother?" Hinata had no brothers – she didn't even have a family. It only made her sad when she heard Keiko talking about hers, and then only because of the look of nostalgia and longing on Keiko's face. It was hard to miss something she had never had, Hinata supposed.

"Better. He's a bit sickly, but mom's sending him to a civilian school. He won't be joining the IOR, that's for sure."

There was no bitterness in Keiko's voice, but neither was it kind or forgiving. Hinata watched her for a moment, and then pressed the doll back in her hands.

"A-are you going to visit them?" she asked quietly. "You can, you know. Now that we're ninja."

Keiko sighed, and pivoted slightly – leapt up from the bed, all taut grace. Her hair was tied up on her head in a bun, and frizzy, orange flyaways framed her face. They danced with her movements, bounced up and down her cheeks, as she paced the room.

"Would you go to your family, if you could?" she asked. Hinata's breath stuttered in her throat, and she grabbed the duvet, pulled it to her chest. A glance at her fingers made her loosen her grip; her knuckles were white.

"Because that's the same. When you don't see them for years, but are aware of their existence, can you even claim to love them? I have no idea what they're like, after all this time."

"I don't know," Hinata found herself saying. A staircase in midsummer heat, the glint of a Konoha headband. A voice saying _this is your home now_. All of that meant something, but not as much as she expected it to. Those were just memories, and there were bigger things to worry about. "I don't know."

Keiko came to sit beside her and slung an arm around her shoulders. Her body cast a pleasant warmth over her.

"Let's sleep," she said. "Somehow I haven't managed it without you close."

Hinata snaked a hand around her wrist and squeezed.

"Let's," she said, and let her eyes slip close.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

The following morning, Sensei took her to the furthest peak. They walked quickly, shivering pine needles in their hair, their breaths steaming up the air. Hinata took the time to observe her teacher. A slim, and shallow face, with a chin too sharp and a hawk-like nose. Narrow eyes, black and glittering.

"W-Who was here before me?"

They stepped onto one of the red bridges, and the wind swept her words away. It pounded angrily against her form, and she had to plant her heels in the metal to keep her standing. In the distance, the sky bled grey, and dark rain clouds loomed ominously.

A storm was coming.

"A girl," Sensei said, voice rough. He grabbed her by the elbow, almost dragging her behind him. "Channel chakra to your feet. That is easier."

She did as she was told, though the sticky sensation was less than pleasant. "I-I'm not that good at it yet," she explained, and hurried after Sensei. The wind cast her hair into her face. "Who was she?"

"Mariko," Sensei said, with a glance. His features were tight. "She was about Rin's age. Wanted to be Raikage, when she grew up."

"What happened to her?"

"Kiri nin killed her. A slash to her neck, and it was over. Rin couldn't save her. It reminded me how much blood our bodies possess."

Hinata felt herself shiver, and knew it wasn't from the cold wind that bit at her face, and penetrated her clothing. She had heard stories at the camp, and knew the reality of a shinobi, but it had never felt close.

"I'm going to make sure you don't face the same end," Sensei said. They stepped off the bridge, onto the uneven ground. Above her, rocks loomed, tilted as if they were loose and could fall at any moment.

"I'm bringing you to Ayano Sato." Hinata's breath stuttered to a halt. Staring wildly up at her teacher, she wondered if she had heard him correctly. The Dream Devil, whose smiles were poisonous, and whose words strung lies in your ears. Her bingo book entry was almost blank, but her status was firmly at the top: A-rank.

They stopped in front of a house, though it could hardly be called that. A round structure was crudely chiseled out of the mountain. The few round windows were dark and dirty. A filled watertank was tucked to the side, along with two withering plants.

"Go on in. She's expecting you."

Hinata stepped forward and closed her hand around the doorknob. The cold radiated through her hand. "Won't you be coming with me?"

Her teacher didn't reply. She peered over her shoulder, but the place that Sensei had occupied was traitorously empty.

Inside, the smell of wet cushions and detergent warmed up the air. The Dream Devil was seated in a rickety armchair by one of the round windows. A light breeze came in from the window, and played with her long, dark strands. Her face was older than Hinata had imagined; wrinkled, pockmarked. Her eyes were big and bulged slightly in the sockets, shadowed by long, brown lashes.

"Somehow they always bring me kunoichis."

The woman's voice was rough and throaty. She did not seem at all alarmed by Hinata's presence, and instead calmly and deftly rose from the armchair. "Somehow they think girls will appreciate the art more. As if gender has anything to do with it."

The red yukata swished around her legs. She walked over to the back wall, where tapestries and hand-written notes were plastered all over the wall. Drawings of coal - a dozen of portraits, with only the eyes colored in. A crude drawing of a fly, trees dark and teal behind it. A sharp moon in the sky.

Flies buzzed by the windows. "The weak and the meek – they want me to carve something out of it. Most come here with thoughts of fame. They never last long."

"W-Will you – w-would you teach me?" Hinata's voice stuttered in her throat, and she almost choked on her tongue. The buzzing grew louder, folded itself around her. A thousand crickets began to sing.

"No," Ayano said. "That's what they don't get. There's nothing to teach."

The fly on the picture began to move. It twitched against the paper, and its translucent wings shimmered in the dim light of the fire. An ember snapped. Smoke billowed up from the hearth, writhed like a living thing against the ceiling and the walls. The smoke twisted and contorted the drawings on the wall; they seemed to come alive, to move over their paper. A choking fog. Hinata couldn't tear her gaze away.

Filth settled down on her skin, sticky like oil. She wanted to wash it away, this chaos, this -

"Every mind is different," Ayano said. The fire flicked back, and the insects quieted. She sat back down in the armchair, and beckoned Hinata closer. "Is that your greatest asset? Your mind?"

The answer came to her, too quick and too honest. "No," Hinata said, and held Ayano's gaze, barely blinking. "I think that would be kindness."

The woman laughed. The sound was harsh and cutting, a cackle. She slapped Hinata on the arm. "Your greatest asset is telling people exactly what they wish to hear?"

The fly wrung itself through the paper and buzzed through the room. It landed on Hinata's knuckle, tiny body twitching, and lifted the two front paws to wash,

"I can work with that," Ayano said finally, after a long silence. "I can definitely work with that."

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A/N:

Apparently I cannot write battle scenes. I hope this is a satisfactory second chapter. Next up: Hinata's first mission!

Please, leave a review (it would make my day), and if you have any tips or criticism, do share.


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